


Probation

by thedragontheprincessthewriter



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, Gallavich AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3001160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragontheprincessthewriter/pseuds/thedragontheprincessthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Ian and Mickey have known each other since childhood, until Ian moves away. He comes back years later, determined to spend the summer with Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've recently become obsessed with Shameless, and this my first time publishing anything at all for this fandom. I've been working on this story for a while now and have it mostly all written out, it should be about ten to twelve chapters long.
> 
> I tried to make the story as clear as possible without giving too much background, but I realize it's still AU, so if anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. :)

He's been to this address thousands of times, but the house still comes as a shock.

He knocks on the door twice, raps it hard with his fingers, until it swings open.

"What the fuck, man?"

The soft, silky locks of Mickey's childhood are gone. Instead, his hair is short, buzzcut, matted. His eyes are lighter than Ian remembered, like they've been fading away inside this place. He's shirtless and holding a cigarette to his mouth, which he almost drops when he recognizes him.

"Ian?"

Ian doesn't know what to say, and Mickey isn't opening the door any wider.

"What are you doing here?"

 

* * *

 

There is no air conditioning inside the house. "Can't afford it," Mickey says with a shrug when he sees him sweating bullets. Ian doesn't say anything, let's Mickey think it's the heat that's making him sweat.

He pulls a beer out of the fridge and hands it to him. "Don't got nothing else," he grunts. Ian pretends to take a sip and sets it down on the floor.

Mickey has a seat on an old, wooden rocking chair. He looks good, in jeans and barefoot, even with the dirt that's settled on the side of his face and hands. "So, boot camp, huh?"

Ian shrugs. "I guess Clayton wanted to make sure every bit of the Southside was eradicated for good."

"Go figure. When do you have to go back?"

"I'm supposed to be there now, actually."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "You ran away? From boot camp?"

"Is that pathetic?"

This Mickey doesn't smile. "Kind of. How did he even get you to agree to go in the first place?"

What Ian doesn't tell him is that they didn't have to ask him to go to Chicago twice.

 

* * *

 

"You know you can't stay here, right?"

Ian nods, even though he doesn't. "I know. But I can't stay at Frank's, that's the first place they'll look."

Mickey bites his lip. "You can stay over at my girlfriend's, if you want."

_Oh._

"She lives a couple blocks down, with her mom. They have AC and a TV and food and all the shit you're used to."

"OK."

"Are you gonna call Fiona?"

"I don't know."

"You should."

"You think?"

"She's gonna find out eventually and I don't need anybody coming here and fucking-"

"All right. I'll call her."

 

* * *

 

Karen's mom seems to know who he is without introduction. "You're the gay kid. Frank's son."

"Uh, yeah."

Should he be flattered, that Mickey's mentioned him, or upset, that he's been reduced to a stereotype?

She nods. "Wouldn't go saying that around here if I were you. He told me because he knew it was the only way I'd let you stay. With Karen under my roof and everything."

"Thank you so much, Mrs.-"

"Sheila."

 

* * *

 

"Fiona?"

"Ian, where are you? I just got a call from Clayton, we've been worried sick-"

"It's fine, Fi. I'm at Mickey's."

"You are?"

"Yeah."

Fiona pauses. "Haven't seen him in a while. How is he?"

 _Different._ "He's all right."

There is a pause. "Are you going back to camp?"

"I don't think so."

She sighs. "You want me to let Clayton know?"

"Yeah. And tell him I want to stay here for the summer."

"At the Milkovich house?"

"Yeah."

One of the things he's always loved about his sister is that she doesn't ask questions that don't need to be asked.

"All right. I'll tell him. Just... call if you need anything, OK?."

"I will. Thanks."

"Take care. And, Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"Come visit sometime."

* * *

 

They're sitting outside, in Mickey's front porch, because the heat of the summer is unbearable indoors, even after the sun's gone down. Mickey toys silently with a lighter.

"So, where is everybody?"

"If by everybody you mean Mandy, she's been staying at my aunt's."

"How come?"

"I asked her to go. She had to deal with Terry's bullshit while he was alive... no need for her to deal with his death, too."

"Your brothers?"

Mickey snorts. "Couldn't get out of the house fast enough."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Ian tries to look into Mickey's eyes, but he isn't having it, and he wonders how conversation used to come so easily when they were children.

"So, any plans for the summer?"

"Yeah. To stay out of jail."

"Seriously?"

"Mandy isn't here to bail me out anymore."

The concern in Ian's eyes makes him frown. "Don't worry. I'm keeping myself busy. Got a job at a construction site downtown."

 _Is that where the dirt under your fingernails comes from?_ "What do you do?"

"Scaffolding."

"Really?"

"Come on, man, don't tell me you're surprised. Climbing over fences was the only thing I was good at when we were kids."

 

* * *

 

Karen is tiny and blond; Mickey can probably throw her over his shoulder without a hitch. She is setting up a spare room for Ian, but not before giving him the once over.

"You don't really look gay."

"Uh, thanks?"

"I mean, you look straight enough for boot camp, at least."

Ian shrugs. "Well, I'm not. Maybe that's why I didn't stay."

She looks at him coolly. "Maybe."

She finishes making the bed and glances around the frilly room, pleased. "Well, you should fit right in."

_Why? Because it's pink and flowery and I'm gay?_

"So, how long are you staying?"

"I... I don't know. Until I can save enough money to go back home. I thought I could get a job or something."

"Have you told Mickey?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, he can't exactly get you a job at the construction site, can he?"

"Why not?"

Karen just rolls her eyes at him.

 

* * *

 

Mickey comes in without knocking, and the gesture strikes Ian as oddly familiar. "So, the best thing I found-"

He sticks his nose up in the air, sniffs. "Jesus, it smells like shit in here."

"It's not that bad."

Mickey glances around the room, at the flowered curtains and bedspread. "It isn't usually like this."

"They were trying make me feel at home."

"Being gay means you like men, you'd think they'd know better than to make the room smell like a fucking whorehouse."

Ian smiles, for the first time since he got here, and Mickey looks away quickly. "So, I asked around and they need someone at the warehouse on Fifth."

"All right."

"But you're gonna be lugging around furniture and shit."

"That's fine."

"You sure you up for it?"

"Wouldn't have been any different at boot camp."

Mickey nods, in that quiet way of his. "I guess you're right."


	2. Chapter 2

The warehouse and Mickey's construction site are by the way, and they walk together the first morning. It's raining, and Ian, who didn't bring a jacket, wonders if it's a sign. He says as much to Mickey, who looks at him like he's crazy.

“No such thing as signs.”

“You don't think so?”

“No. Either you're gonna be able to do the job, or you're not. Just make sure you do, because Karen's uncle's the one that recommended you.”

Mickey sticks a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. It's torn and too big on him; it must have belonged to Terry or one of his brothers. He lights up impressively, even in rain.

“Oh, Mickey. You smoke so much.”

Mickey's eyes get dark beneath his eyelids, like there's a storm brewing under there, too.

“Yeah,” he grunts, trying to warn Ian off.

“But it's so bad for you.”

“You think I don't know that, Ian? I know how he fuckin' died, all right?”

“I--”

“I was there with him, all alone in that shithole.”

“I... I wasn't going to say anything.”

Mickey takes a puff and visibly relaxes. They're in front of the warehouse now, and he glances back at Ian. “Go on, then.”

“Wait. I... you're not coming with me?”

Mickey laughs, and it's not the warm, thrilled laugh Ian remembered, but a hollow, humorless sound. “It's a job, Ian, not fucking open-heart surgery.”

Ian nods, trying not to panic, but something in his face must give him away, because Mickey takes off his jacket and throws it at him. “Here.”

“But you're gonna need it.”

“Never need nothing.”

“You work outdoors.”

Mickey shrugs him off. “'S all right. I'm more used to it than you are.”

“I lived half my life in Chicago, Mickey.”

“Yeah, but you ain't Southside no more.”

 

* * *

 

 

It's not until later that it dawns on Mickey that that must have been Ian's first time at a job, any job.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you never worked before.”

_Because I thought you'd know._

“I don't know. I didn't think--”

“I'd have found you something easier.”

“The warehouse was fine.”

“What they make you do?”

“Like you said. Pack boxes into trailers. That kind of stuff.”

“For eight hours?”

“Pretty much.”

“You get bored?”

Ian shrugs. “A little.”

“If you'd told me, I'd have tried to find you something different.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Something at the meat packing plant?”

“Thanks, but I'll stay where I am.”

“I don't know what you were expecting, Ian.”

“I wasn't expecting anything.”

“I'm sorry I can't get you a job at the fucking office of --”

“I never asked you to.”

“Those jobs don't come by easy. Not around here.”

“You think I don't know that?”

Mickey shrugs.

“I'm not some spoiled brat who--”

“Aren't you, though?”

 

* * *

 

 

Karen's house doesn't make Ian feel any more Southside. They don't have much, but Sheila tries hard to make it feel like a home, and succeeds more than Ian thought it'd be possible in this part of town. He wonders if, underneath it all, that's what Mickey likes about it.

They all sit around the table, eating silently, except for Mickey, who still chews with his mouth open. Ian bites back a smile, but his eyes sparkle when he watches him eat, glad that some part of the boy he knew remains. Mickey catches his eye and quickly looks up at him. “What?”

Ian shakes his head. “Nothing.”

They've effectively broken the silence. Sheila turns to Ian.

“Has he always been like this?”

Mickey's eyes are on Ian's, warning him, and even after all these years, Ian finds himself unable to hold his gaze. “Like what?” he asks, looking down at his plate.

“So... quiet.”

Ian sneaks another glance at Mickey, wondering what he expects him to say. He's impassive, but Ian can still read him, even when his face gives nothing away.

“Yeah. More or less.”

Sheila sighs. “You know this is the first time we've ever gotten him to join us at the table? Must have something to do with you being here.”

“I doubt that.”

Mickey's rough voice still startles him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you doubt it?”

“Because you don't seem too happy to have me here.”

Mickey pushes his chair away from the table and gets up abruptly, even though he's barely touched the food on his plate.

“Mickey, where are you going?” Karen cries out.

“I'm fucking done with this conversation,” he says as he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Ian sneaks out of Karen's at night, even though he's been warned multiple times not to go out after dark. He walks to Mickey's house and jumps the fence, not wanting to make noise by opening the gate. The leap is easier than he thought it would be; all that carrying furniture must be making him stronger.

The door is unlocked; Mickey insists on keeping it that way, like not inviting trouble in is something to be ashamed of. Ian is light on his feet despite his height, and he roams around the house in silence before trying to find Mickey. It might be the only chance he'll get to look inside.

There isn't much to see, mostly empty rooms with broken windows. There is a small fridge and an old gas stove in the kitchen, and, in the bathroom, a torn shower curtain and a flooded tub. In another room, next to a stack of empty pizza boxes, is a pile of cement-stained clothes.

The sound of a fan guides him to Mickey, who is fast asleep, strewn halfway over the floor and some blankets. He's fully clothed, shoes on and everything, and the fan is blowing wisps of hair over his forehead. There are empty beer cans and cigarette stubs all around him, but even this man he doesn't know anymore can't look menacing while sleeping. Ian kneels down next to him and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Mickey?”

Mickey jumps before Ian's hand even touches him, and shoves him off with such force he lands on the other side of the room. Mickey sits up, blinking at him owlishly. “Ian?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Don't do that.”

“I'm sorry.”

Mickey shakes his head and helps him to his feet. “Nah, it's fine. Not your fault.”

They sit down on Mickey's blankets without looking at each other until Ian breaks the silence. “Are you mad at me?”

Mickey's voice is hoarse from all the beer he's been drinking. “What? No. Why would I be?”

“Because of what I said at dinner.”

Mickey racks his brain until he remembers. “That? Oh, no. I'd forgotten already.”

He pulls out a box of cigarettes from underneath the blankets and lights one, offering Ian the first drag. He shakes his head.

“One's not gonna give you cancer. He smoked for years.”

“No, I know. It's just... I've never... before. I won't know what to do.”

Mickey looks at him in wonder. “Man, there's a lot of shit you haven't done, isn't there?” He takes a drag to show Ian. “Nothin' to it. You just put your mouth on it and suck.”

Ian looks at him doubtfully and Mickey makes a face. “Man, you're gay. You should have experience with that.”

Ian flushes and looks away. Mickey sighs. “Don't tell me you haven't... not even that, huh? OK.” He holds up the cigarette until it's touching Ian's lips. “Now inhale.”

Ian does and immediately bursts into a coughing fit. Mickey laughs roughly, but without malice, as he takes another drag. “Happened to me too, first time I did it.”

“It did?” Ian asks, surprised. Everything always seems to go so smoothly for Mickey.

“Yeah. Tryin' to figure out how to smoke some cigarettes I stole from Terry. Burned the shit off my fingers.”

It's the most words Mickey's said since Ian's been here, and things get oddly silent after. Then Mickey speaks again. “You really think I don't want you around?”

Ian shrugs. “I don't know I... maybe I should have said something... warned you I was coming.”

Mickey nods before handing him the cigarette. “Maybe.”

They share it until there's none left, Ian managing to control his coughing for the last couple of drags.

Mickey glances at him as he puts out the cigarette against the bottom of his shoe. “Are you all right? From the fall, I mean. I didn't hurt you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

By the next day, a large purple bruise has formed right under Ian's jawbone, like a scar. Mickey frowns as soon as he sees it.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Ian, who didn't look in the mirror that morning, looks up at him, clueless. “Huh?”

Mickey traces the bruise on his cheek. “There's a huge bruise... Did somebody do something to you?”

“What?”

“I'm serious, Ian. Did something happen you're not telling me--”

“No, Mickey, I don't even know what--”

“There's a fucking bruise on the side of your face, how did you--”

They both stare at each other as the answer becomes apparent.

“Shit.”

Mickey cups his hand around Ian's face gently, angling it for a better look. “I didn't--”

“It's OK. It's fine.”

“Don't say it's OK. It fucking isn't.”

“Mickey, I didn't even realize I had it. I doesn't hurt. I just bruise easily.”

Mickey blinks, then runs his eyes over him. “You're so pale.”

Ian shrugs. “Comes with the red hair.”

Mickey snorts.

“What?”

“I just remembered that nickname--”

Ian groans. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Mick.”

Mickey looks up at him. “You haven't called me that in a while.”

“Do you mind?”

“No. Not as long as I get to call you--”

“You don't get to call me shit.”

“Why not? I was the one who came up with it.”

“Then why did you beat up all the kids who called me that?”

“I didn't know it was gonna catch on. I didn't know it was going to bother you.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, because it's such a nice thing to call someone?”

Mickey shrugs. “You didn't seem to mind when it was just me doin' it.”

“I didn't,” Ian says shortly.

“Then why do you mind now?”

“Because we're not kids anymore, Mickey.”

“You like it better when I call you Ian?”

Ian shivers a little. Mickey only recently started calling him by his name, and he would be lying if he said he didn't like the sound of it on his lips.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Fi. Yes. Lots of fun. Uh-huh. OK. Bye.”

Ian slips his cell phone into his back pocket and Mickey shoots him an odd glance from his spot on his old rocking chair. “Why did you lie to her?”

“Huh?”

“You're not having fun.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Where? At the warehouse?”

Ian sighs and sits down on the floor. “You ever go out?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Got everything I need right here.”

Ian grabs one of the multiplicity of empty beer cans surrounding him, tosses it across the room. “Not even with Karen?”

“When she makes me.”

“What about your friends?”

Mickey gets up, suddenly, irritated. “What friends, Ian? I'm fucking alone, man, don't you get it?”

 

* * *

 

Sweat is dripping down his back and legs freely, and he's sure he must look ridiculous in his soaked sweatpants and tank top, the only clothes he thought he'd need for boot camp. He tries lifting the couch again and again, about five times before he hears the coughing behind him and turns around to find Karen, wearing a navel-baring top and watching him indifferently.

“I need to find Mickey,” she says, like he's her secretary.

“He must be at work. Why don't you call him?”

She rolls her eyes. “He doesn't have a phone.”

“Oh. Well, I'm sure you can go look for him.”

“You think I'd be here if I knew where to find him?”

“You don't know where he works?”

“There are a hundred construction sites downtown, of course I don't know where he works.”

Ian sighs. “Karen, I'm working.”

“I know. I talked to my uncle, he says you can come with me.”

He stares at the glinting piercing on Karen's navel, at her perfectly flat stomach, and instantly feels annoyed. “Fine.”

“It's not like you were having much luck with that couch, anyway.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you need Mickey for?”

“I want him to have lunch with me.”

Ian's passed Mickey's workplace before, but he's never stopped. Now he does, at the bottom of one of the structures they're building, and looks up. It's oddly breathtaking, all these beams and rods, casting shadows in the midday sun. He puts his hand up to his forehead, to shield his eyes, when he hears whistling from above.

“Hey, Karen, found yourself a new boyfriend?”

Karen takes a step to the side, as if to disassociate herself from Ian. He squints. Standing on a platform, a couple meters above them, are two of Mickey's brothers.

“Not funny, assholes. Where's Mickey?”

They point upwards, and Ian tilts his head further back, until he spots a dark figure on a higher platform, moving swiftly, as if on ground.

“Mickey,” one of them yells. “Come down.”

Karen flinches. “Don't do that. He could fall.”

“He won't fall,” Ian mutters.

Karen turns to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Mickey climbs down the structures like they're stairs, and his eyes land on Ian first. “Ian? What's going on?”

Ian raises his eyebrows and points to Karen. Mickey turns his cool, blue eyes on her next.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she says simply.

“I'm surprised,” he says, even though he doesn't look it.

“Come get lunch with me?”

“Ate already.” He gestures to an empty pizza box resting on one of the platforms.

“You can have dessert or something.”

“Not hungry.”

Karen's looking at him with a hardened expression that reminds Ian she's not only Sheila's daughter, that she had a dad too, once. “So I came all the way here for nothing?”

Mickey shrugs. His brothers laugh. One of them stares intently at Ian. “Aren't you going to introduce us, Karen?”

She fixes her eyes on Mickey, who says nothing. Finally, Ian speaks up. “No need. We already know each other.”

They stare at him blankly, and he sighs. “Ian.”

“You Karen's friend?”

Ian shrugs. “You could say that. I guess.”

“Or are you guys more than friends?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Iggy.”

“Oh, you jealous, Mick?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he knows I'm not into her,” Ian says.

“Ouch,” Iggy says as Karen frowns.

Ian sighs again, looking straight at the two brothers. “I'm gay.”

He'd been warned not to say it, but here it is, and he detects a hint of alarm in Mickey's eyes, but there's respect there, too.

“You're a fag?”

Ian immediately tenses up, and Mickey scowls. “Watch your fucking mouth, Colin.”

“No offense, man.”

“It's just a word, Mickey,” Iggy says.

“No, it ain't, it's a fucking insult, and you--”

“Mickey,” Ian cuts in. “It's OK.”

“No it's not, Ian. Stop saying shit's OK when it isn't.”

Everyone is silent, suddenly, staring at each other from the platforms where they're standing. Mickey sighs.

“Ian, you remember my brothers? Iggy and Colin.”

They all nod at each other, an agreement, and Karen glares at the lot of them. “I'm leaving,” she announces as she turns around. No one says anything, and she looks back at Ian.

“Well? You comin'?”

 

* * *

 

Mickey walks into his room that morning as Ian's pulling on his only pair of sweats. He eyes them critically. “That all you brought to wear?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to be in uniform, remember?”

Mickey shakes his head. “Come on.”

Ian follows him out the door and into his house. They go into one of those rooms no one ever uses, and Mickey opens the door to a closet Ian hadn't noticed was there before. It's full of neatly hung clothes.

“Terry's old shit. Maybe something will fit.”

It is the only thing that remains of Terry in this house, and Ian hesitates. “I--”

“It's fine, Ian. He's dead.”

Ian's eyes widen, and Mickey looks into them. “Is that what it is? You don't wanna wear a dead man's clothes?”

Ian shakes his head. “No, Mickey, of course not. It's just... they're your dad's.”

“He ain't comin' back to claim them.”

Ian lays a hand on a pair of old jeans. They must have belonged to a much younger Terry, because they look too small for the one he remembers. He mentions this to Mickey, who shakes his head.

“Nah. They ain't that old. He just... he lost a lot of weight.”

Ian's tries to change the subject as he grabs them. “I don't even think they'll fit.”

Mickey looks him up and down, unabashedly. “They will.”

Ian tries them on, awkwardly, tripping over his feet, and he silently thanks god Mickey doesn't seem to know how to laugh.

The jeans button up just right, and Mickey nods, satisfied.

“I guess all the stuff Karen's uncle has me doing is working.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I didn't make it through boot camp, but at least I'm gonna look like I did. If I gain some more muscle.”

“You look fine, Ian.”

“Better than when I came, yeah.”

“You always looked fine.”

  


 


	4. Chapter 4

It's dark by the time Ian gets out of work. Bugs are flying everywhere and as often as he tries to swat them away, they still stick to his sweaty skin.

He passes by Mickey's house on his way to Karen's, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. There is an odd, orange light glowing from within, and as much as Ian tells himself to go home, his feet take him inside.

There is a fire in one of the rooms, Ian can see it from an angle, can see Mickey and his brothers smoking around it. He feels a heavy disappointment thudding inside of him, presses his back against the wall of the opposite room and slides down until he's sitting cross-legged on the floor, where he can hear their conversation perfectly.

"I'll be violating my fucking probation."

"We're not gonna get caught, Mickey."

"Fine. But I'm taking an extra gun, just in case."

"We don't need another gun, what we need is another person."

"What for?"

"So they can be on the lookout."

"Who the hell is gonna wanna do that?"

"How about your friend?"

There is a pause, and Ian's heart skips a beat.

"What friend?"

"The one that came by the construction site the other day."

"Nah."

"Why not?"

"He don't go for that kind of shit."

"He's not down for making a few extra bucks?"

"No."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I said no, Colin. Give it a rest, OK?"

 

* * *

 

Ian hears noises at night. He wants to kick himself for being such a pussy, but he knows they're in a dangerous neighborhood and his mind can't help but wander. Tonight, they're louder than ever, and he hides under the covers in spite of the heat, trying to pretend someone's not about to break into his room.

"That was easy."

Ian sits up so quickly the covers slide right off him, and he's left staring at Mickey, shell-shocked. Mickey looks like he wants to laugh at him, but doesn't.

"I thought... I thought you were a burglar."

"Did you?" he asks nonchalantly.

"What are you doing here?"

Mickey shrugs, shifting the raggedy backpack he's carrying from one shoulder to the other.

"What was easy?"

"Huh?"

"You said something was easy."

"Sneaking in here. I thought it'd be harder."

"You mean you never tried it before?"

"Nah. I can see Karen whenever."

"You can see me whenever, too."

No, not usually, but now he can, at least while the summer lasts, but neither of them say it. Mickey shakes his head, trying to stop thoughts before they form there.

"Why are you here?" Ian asks again.

"I couldn't sleep. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Get into some trouble."

 

* * *

 

They're running and jumping fences, and Ian can keep up with Mickey, but just barely. It's so dark it's hard to tell where they're going, but Mickey seems to know without needing to see, or maybe he really can see in the dark, like a cat.

There are dogs barking in the distance, and when they finally land on solid ground, Ian feels them snapping at his feet, but one word from Mickey and they're silent. They know him.

They are on abandoned grounds, some place that Ian at first guesses is a graveyard, and maybe it kind of is, only it's full of beat-up trucks and broken machinery.

"Mickey, where are we?"

Mickey glares at him and places a finger to his lips. Ian follows him to the back of the lot and under a shed. Inside, there are a couple of old cars. Mickey gives them the once over, then turns to Ian.

"You pick."

"What?"

"Which one do you want?"

"Mickey-"

"Fucking pick, Ian, we don't got all night."

Ian points to a rust-covered car that looks like it might have white at one point. Mickey smirks. "A five-o, huh?"

"What?"

"A five-o. It's a cop car. Or was."

"Oh." Ian pauses. "Is that bad?"

"No. Shows you have balls."

"What?"

"Stealing a cop car."

"Stealing? What do you mean-?"

But before he can even say anything, Mickey has already picked the lock on the door and thrown his backpack in the trunk. "Get in."

 

* * *

 

For someone who's driving a stolen car, Mickey seems to enjoy speeding. Ian still can't get over the fact that they did what they did, his heart is still hammering in his chest, in fear and excitement at doing the first bad thing he thinks he might have done in his life.

"You wanna drive?"

"Huh?"

"The car. You wanna drive it?"

"Uh, no. Thanks."

Mickey fixes his eyes on him, stern. "Don't tell me you're fucking scared."

"No. I just... I haven't had too much practice, you know? Clayton doesn't have time, and I... I'm not sure I want him to."

Mickey nods.

"When did you learn?"

"Bout five years ago. Terry taught me."

"Five years ago you were, like, twelve."

"He needed someone to drive him to the doctor. We had a stick shift. Took me forever to learn."

"You still have it?"

"What?"

"The car."

"Nah. Sold it."

"Oh."

"To pay for the casket. Don't get any ideas in your head."

"I wasn't... Mickey, I thought you had money."

"I do."

"I mean, enough."

"To live like you? No, there's never enough for that."

The radio in the car doesn't work, and Ian's kind of glad for it. Mickey tried it three times already, the last rather desperately, but Ian likes the silence between them.

"You can practice with this car if you want... while we have it."

"OK."

Mickey pulls up on the side of the road and Ian's eyes go wide. "Now?"

Mickey shrugs. "Road's empty."

"But, Mickey, I don't even know where we're going."

"I'll tell you where."

* * *

 

The air feels hot and stuffy and Mickey's feet are up on the dashboard like he's not afraid Ian could crash at any moment while he lazily gives out directions, whether because he trusts him or because he's fearless, who knows.

They've gone on a straight line the whole way, with the exception of a few turns, and Ian understands why Mickey let him drive here. He's going fast, faster than he thought he'd have the courage to, and the windows are open, and the air coming in tastes like salt, and this is fun, funner than he thought it was gonna be. A small smile forms on his lips, and Mickey looks like he wants to grin, too.

"What?"

"You're smiling."

"I was just thinking that-"

"That it's the first time this summer you're actually having fun."

"Yup."

 


	5. Chapter 5

When they drive up by the beach, Ian can't believe it. The sun is rising and this ocean is nothing like he's seen before. It's not the blue, clear water of his fancy, beachfront vacations, of Mickey's eyes, but instead reminds him of his own eyes. Murky, sometimes green, sometimes brown.

"Don't make it any less nice," Mickey mutters. "The beach is still the beach."

And he's right. The beach is magic, no matter the color of the water or the texture of the sand, although Ian already feels haunted by this part of the ocean in particular, by the fog descending upon its waters, and knows none other will be like this, ever.

Everything is deserted, there are no stores or businesses nearby, and Ian wonders if it's dangerous here. It is so eerie he finds himself scared of something other than people, and that's a first.

They sit down on a large rock and listen to the wind blowing, louder than the waves. There is nothing to do, nothing to look at, except each other and the waves crashing, so violently it must be akin to being out in open sea. They stay there for a while, and Ian thinks that this isn't fun, but something entirely different.

He doesn't know how much time passes, just that they're staring out into nothing, when out of the corner of his eye he sees movement and turns in time to see a large, brown horse walking past them. It is majestic in the way all horses are, especially here, alone at dawn, like magic brought him out on his own.

He stops to graze on some grass and then, to Ian's surprise, bends his front legs and lies down on the cool sand.

"Is he OK?" he whispers.

"Yeah," Mickey says, normal-voiced. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"I don't know. I've never seen a horse do that before."

"They don't do it a lot. Only when they feel safe."

Mickey might be making this up, Ian has no idea how he would know, but he has a feeling he's not. Feeling like he's said too much, Mickey jumps off the rock where they were sitting. He lies down on his back, on the damp, rocky sand, and looks up at the fading stars. Ian tries doing the same, but falls asleep almost right away.

The tide licking at his feet wakes him, and by then, it's already morning. The water is freezing and so is the air, and he's convinced the cold would have woken him if the water hadn't, even though he's covered with Mickey's shirt. There is sand on his hair and in his shoes and he realizes with a start what it must be like to be Mickey, with dirt always sticking to you. He looks around him. The sky is gray and the fog's come down even more; it hardly looks like daytime.

The horse is no longer there, and he wonders if he dreamed it all. Mickey is no longer there either, and he glances back at the car, parked in the middle of the sand, but it's empty. Ian sits up and squints, until he spots Mickey's dark hair in the middle of the ocean, at home with the sea foam and the misty fog. It makes him laugh, for some reason, and the sound of his laughter echoes all around them, enveloping them like a blanket. He has no time to ask himself how a sound can echo in such a space, with nothing to bounce back on, because Mickey, who is yards from him, has somehow heard it too, and is swimming back to shore, looking just as startled.

He shakes water off his hair like a dog. The streaks of dried cement are finally starting to come off his bare chest and legs, dripping like all they needed was some salt water and air. Ian wonders if maybe that's all anyone ever needs.

"Aren't you cold?" Ian asks, handing him back his shirt.

"Nah. You wear it."

It's an old flannel button down, and Ian gets up to put it on. He leaves it unbuttoned, certain it won't fit, but Mickey takes a step forward and buttons it for him. Ian tries to search his eyes, but he has to look down now. It's not as easy as it used to be.

"When did you get taller than me?" Mickey asks, looking away.

Ian shrugs. "You just noticed?"

"Uh-huh."

"Remember when you used to make fun of me, tell me I'd never grow?"

There is a hint of a smile on Mickey's face. "Now things are how they should have always been."

* * *

 

Ian doesn't want to glance at his phone but he can't help it, and when he sees it's eight o'clock he calls out for Mickey, who's still in the ocean like he can't bear to be out of it, guilty to be the one making him leave it.

"Mick?"

"Yeah?" he yells.

"Shouldn't we go?"

"Go where?"

"Go back."

"What for?"

"We have to go to work."

"Fuck work."

"Won't you get fired?"

"I'm the best worker they got, they can't fucking fire me."

"What about me?"

Mickey narrows his eyes at him. "What, it's such a great job you can't get another?"

Ian shrugs. He's right. "Fine. But I thought you didn't want Karen's uncle-"

"Fuck Karen's uncle."

"Fine."

* * *

 

Ian won't go in the water and Mickey doesn't ask him to, doesn't ask why. Maybe this is why he loves men, they don't ask so many questions, and it's a relief. He comes back after he's been swimming for a while and sits next to Ian, whose stomach growls loudly; he hasn't eaten anything since the night before. Mickey turns to look at him.

"You're hungry."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Ian shrugs. "I was waiting for you to say something."

Mickey gets up and heads to the car, where he opens the trunk and pulls out his backpack. He brings it back with him as he has a seat next to Ian again and begins digging through it. He pulls out a styrofoam container and tosses it to Ian, who opens it to find a cold slice of pizza inside.

"Mickey, this is disgusting."

Mickey grunts. "You hungry enough, you'll eat anything."

Does he know this from experience? It's probably better not to ask, so he doesn't and just eats it. At home, he'd be complaining about the food, but right now he's so fucking hungry, this actually tastes good.

 


	6. Chapter 6

They don't head back until it's nighttime again. Mickey likes driving in the dark, and it's a safe time, to leave the car somewhere and not look back.

"Where are we dropping it off?"

"At my uncle Ronnie's. He'll give me a couple hundred bucks for it."

"Where does he live?"

"Behind the high school."

Ian remembers, somewhere in a distant past, walking there with Lip, when Fiona was still in school.

"Haven't been around there in a while."

"Me either, man."

"Did you graduate?" Ian's almost afraid to ask.

"Dropped out half-way through the year. I was supposed to take care of Terry."

"Supposed to?"

"I got into some trouble. I was a piece-of-shit son. Then again, he was a piece-of-shit father."

"Oh, Mick, I'm sure you-"

"Shut up, Ian. You don't know shit."

* * *

 

It takes some coaxing Karen into talking to her uncle so he won't fire him, because in spite of what he said, he cares about his job. He's never made his own money before and he likes it, likes feeling independent, and most of all, likes working mornings so he can spend late afternoons with Mickey.

After downing two portions of Sheila's meatloaf, he heads over to his house, ready to smoke, his new hobby, or maybe even drink and listen to music. He finds a shirtless Mickey in the kitchen, washing a black tank top in the sink and pulling it over his head after squeezing most of the dirty water out of it.

"Ian. What are you doing here?"

As if he wasn't here every afternoon, but Mickey makes him second-guess himself, all the time.

"Uh, I don't know? I thought we were hanging out."

"Can't. I'm going somewhere."

"Oh. Can I come?"

"You should stay home."

* * *

 

 

Sheila and Karen are out, so he has the living room and the TV all to himself. He spends the afternoon scrolling through the channels like his mother used to when she was depressed. He dozes off and wakes to the sound of the door opening and the feel of Karen plopping down next to him on the couch. She's carrying a half-open bag of chips, which she stretches out toward him. He grabs a reluctant handful.

"What you watchin'?"

Ian shrugs, because he doesn't even know anymore. "You back from your date?"

"What date?"

"I thought you were out with Mickey."

"Who told you that?"

"I just figured. He said he was gonna be busy."

Karen snorts. "He's busy, all right."

"Where is he?"

"Out by the L tracks, holding up the liquor store with his idiot brothers."

"No way."

"Yeah. I'm surprised he didn't tell you, you could have helped."

"I doubt it. I've never even seen a... robbery."

"You want to?"

"What?"

"See one? We can go watch. I do it all the time."

"Karen, I don't think-"

But she's already grabbing his hand. "Come on, let's go. It'll be fun."

* * *

 

He catches a glimpse of Mickey's hair as he runs out of the back of the building. Iggy and Colin are right at his heels, jamming bottles of liquor and a wad of cash into a backpack.

"Shit. They're done. Come on."

Karen grabs him by the hand and they run down a few alleys, twisting and turning until they stop, hidden from view, behind an abandoned building. There are others waiting there, a group of girls and some children chatting animatedly, and they greet Karen with grins.

This must be what they do for fun here, Ian thinks.

He bends over and wheezes, trying to catch his breath, when they hear laughter approaching. Iggy and Colin are whooping and taking swigs from a bottle of whiskey, high-fiving everyone there.

Mickey stops dead on his tracks at the sight of Ian. "What the fuck? How did  _you_  get here?"

Karen steps up from behind him, smiling slightly. "I brought him."

Mickey fixes his eyes on her with a look that frightens Ian, but Karen looks like she couldn't care less. "What?"

"I asked you to help me take care of him."

"I am. I wanted him to have some fun. He'd never been to a hold-up before."

"You think I didn't know that? You don't think I had my reasons for wanting to keep it that way?"

Colin turns to Ian. "You never seen a hold-up?"

Ian scrunches up his nose. "In the movies."

Iggy shakes his head. "And we actually wanted you to help us."

But Karen's still looking at Mickey. "I don't get what the fucking big deal is-"

"Get out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Go away. Leave."

She spits on the ground at his feet and spins on her heel. "Come on, Ian. Let's go."

"No, he's stayin'."

Karen shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Ian wants to go after her, but he knows it would only make things worse, so he keeps his feet on the ground, swaying on the tips of his toes.

Everything's gone quiet, and the few people scattered around shoot Mickey dirty looks. They follow Karen, and one of her friends turns back to look at Mickey. "Don't know why she even bothers with your drunk-ass. She could do so much better than you."

Mickey doesn't even look at her, and Ian thinks this can't be the first time he's heard this. Iggy and Colin aren't laughing anymore, but looking at their brother with reproach. He ignores them and grabs hold of the backpack. "Let's see how much we got, then."

That seems to put them in a better mood, and the three of them bend over to go through the contents of the bag, ignoring Ian, who is more annoyed at Mickey than anyone else.

"Why did you want me to stay?"

Mickey turns his icy eyes on him like he's an afterthought. "What?"

"Why did you want me to stay if you're just going to ignore me?"

"I thought you wanted to see what this shit was like."

"And I thought you didn't want me here."

"When did I say that?"

"From the moment I asked you, you didn't want me to come."

Mickey stands up straight."Ian-"

"You didn't want me to know what you were doing-"

"Listen, I-"

"You didn't even want your brothers to know I was here. I bet you would have never even mentioned me if hadn't shown up that day at your job."

They're facing off now, and maybe Ian should be scared at the way Mickey's voice has gone hoarse and quiet, at how close to him he's standing, but he isn't.

"I was trying-"

"Yeah, right, Mickey. Admit it. You're ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?"

"Ashamed to admit you're friends with a fucking fag."

Mickey closes the distance between them and presses his lips to his roughly. Ian's never liked the taste of beer, but on Mickey's mouth, it's like a drug trickling into his system. It's over almost as soon as it begins and then Mickey's walking away without looking back.

"Fuck you, Ian," he yells into the night, flipping him off and leaving his brothers and the money behind, and Ian staring, stunned, after him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

When Mickey gets home, he finds Ian sitting on his rocking chair. If he wonders how he got there before him, he doesn't say anything. He goes to the fridge and gets himself a beer. He gulps down half, then hands the can to Ian, who puts it to his lips and, this time, drinks.

"You shouldn't have been so hard on Karen," he says, breaking the silence.

Mickey is standing by the window now, looking off into the distance. He puts a cigarette in his mouth, lights it. "Bitch can't do what she's told."

"She's your girlfriend, Mickey, not your maid."

Ian finishes the beer with a thirst he didn't know he had, then gets up. "I should go."

Mickey keeps looking outside, and Ian thinks he just got the last words he was going to be able to get out of him all night. He opens the front door, no longer startled by the way it creaks.

"Stay."

At the threshold, Ian hesitates, and Mickey, for the first time in his life, glances around his home and feels ashamed. "Unless you don't want to."

"I do. I just thought you might not."

"Wouldn't be asking you if I didn't. Stay."

They stay up all night, talking and drinking, although it's Ian doing most of the talking, and Mickey doing most of the drinking. Ian looks at him, half-annoyed, half-concerned, after what seems like his thousandth trip to the fridge.

"Do you have to?"

"Have to what?"

"Drink so much?"

Mickey sets the can down on the floor and looks at Ian through glassy, blood-shot eyes."No. But it's how I stay here."

"Here?"

"On earth. On this planet. How I don't go off."

"Off where?"

"Where Terry went."

"You want to?"

"Sometimes. Not so much anymore."

* * *

 

They don't talk about the kiss. Ian wants to, so bad, but he knows Mickey is not the person to bring it up with. He wishes he could phone home (strange, how, after all this time, he still thinks of it as home), talk to Lip. But he knows what his brother would say, as usual, that it's no good, that he needs to give up on it already, because Mickey is acting just like he did all those years ago, like it's nothing, like he's not aware he's tearing Ian apart, piece by piece, for the second time in his life.

It's Sunday morning and the sound of the TV wakes him. It's unlike Karen to be up at this hour, but the house smells like syrup and waffles. He heads out to the kitchen and finds her making them, singing along to a tune on TV.

He rubs his eyes sleepily. "Karen? What's going on?"

She doesn't say anything, but smiles at him and tilts her head toward the couch. Mickey is there, squinting at the TV like he doesn't get what the point of the whole thing is.

Karen heaps a pile of waffles on a tray, grabs some paper plates and drags Ian by the elbow. "Come on." She sits on the couch between them, hands them each a plate.

Mickey tries to push his away. "No, I'm good," but one look from Karen silences him.

Ian, who came out just because of the smell of waffles, doesn't feel so hungry anymore.

She nudges him. "Ian, come on. Eat."

He forces a bite into his mouth and curses her for being such a good cook. "They're fantastic," he sighs as he takes another bite.

Pleased, Karen turns to Mickey. "Your turn."

Mickey frowns at the waffles on his plate. "Karen-"

"Don't be a shithead."

He sighs and takes a bite. Karen grins and gets up. "Good. Now you finish those while I take some upstairs to mom."

As soon as she's off, Mickey sets the plate down on the floor, with no intention of eating.

Ian glances at it. "You should eat that."

"She knows I don't like them."

"She made them for you."

"I don't know why she always feels like she has to make food after we fuck." He looks back at the plate on the floor. "You want them?"

"What, your leftovers? No, thanks."

Mickey frowns at his tone of voice. "What's wrong with you?"

"So, you're back with Karen, now?"

"I was never not with her, Ian."

"But you guys-"

"We fight all the time. That's what we do."

"You're not fighting now. Actually, you seem very happy-"

"You were the one that told me to be nice-"

"Mickey, why did you kiss me?"

"To prove a point."

"And before? This isn't the first time you-"

"I know. I haven't forgotten."

"Why did you do it?"

"I don't fucking know, Ian. We were kids back then, alright?"

"You still remember."

"Yeah, so fucking what?" Mickey says defensively. "You remember, too."

"I bet I remember it a whole lot better than you do."

Mickey doubts this, but doesn't say anything.

"I bet you'd forgotten all about it, until I brought it up."

Mickey can't say he ever forgot about it. It used to roam constantly on his mind. But that was back then. When he believed in a lot of things he doesn't believe in now.

* * *

 

Ian thinks it's the heat that won't let him sleep, rolling in his own sweat at three a.m. even though he's turned the rickety window AC unit full blast. When he finally does fall asleep, it's restless. He dreams of deserts, of horses, of being a little boy, back home, in his sister's arms, watching as Mickey climbed roofs and fences and trees, and wanting so badly to do it, but fear keeping him by Fiona's side.

" _What's your name?"_

_"Mickey."_

_Ian giggles. "Mickey isn't a name."_

" _Yeah, it is."_

" _No, it isn't. Unless you're a mouse. Real humans can't be named Mickey."_

" _Fuck you. What's your name, anyway?"_

" _Ian."_

" _Ian what?"_

_"Gallagher."_

Mickey tries to think of something to say. Perfectly normal name, nothing he can tease him for there.

" _You got a nickname?"_

_Ian rolls his eyes. "There's six of us. No time for nicknames."_

" _Your brother has one," Mickey points out._

" _Yeah. Lip always gets lucky."_

Mickey looks at Ian and wonders what else Lip has that he doesn't. Ian looks at Mickey and sees the chance to have something that maybe Lip never will.

He tugs on his winter hat nervously, and Mickey sees a wisp of red hair peeking out. He grins.

" _Firecrotch."_

" _What?"_

_"That's your nickname. Firecrotch."_

" _What does that even mean?"_

_Mickey grins mischievously. "You don't wanna know."_

Only he does want to know. So he goes home and asks Lip. All he does is yell at him and tell him to stop hanging out with that Milkovich trash.

He doesn't figure it out until years later, blushes for about thirty minutes straight after he does.

But by then it's too late, the nickname has spread.

The first time Mickey calls him that and sees him turn red, he grins.

" _Finally figured it out, huh?"_

_Ian scowls at him. "Fuck you. I don't want people calling me that."_

_Mickey's blue eyes turn solemn . "You serious?"_

_"Yeah."_

From then on, Mickey doesn't let anyone call him that again, ever. Which is fine by Ian. If only Mickey didn't insist on using the stupid nickname in spite of everything.

" _Why?"_

_"Why what?"_

_"Why do you insist on calling me that? You know how much I hate it."_

_Mickey grins. "You really wanna know?"_

" _Yeah."_

" _I like the way you blush."_


	8. Chapter 8

The next night, Ian shows up at Mickey's house, decided to forget all about it the same way he has. He can't find him anywhere, but there is noise in the backyard. He makes his way past some overgrown weeds and finds Mickey hard at work, shirtless and mowing the lawn. He stops and shuts off the lawnmower when he sees him. Ian leans against the side of the house casually. "You own a lawnmower?"

"Nah. Borrowed it from Sheila."

"Mickey, it's midnight."

He shrugs. "Don't got time any earlier."

"Why do you even care if the grass is overgrown?"

Mickey stalls, but in the end decides to answer the question. "Mandy asked for two things when she left. This was one."

"Oh. What was the other?"

"None of your fucking business."

Ian rolls his eyes. "Do you need help?"

He's sure Mickey will say no, but he takes a step back and moves out of Ian's way. "Go ahead."

Ian glances at the lawnmower and bends over, trying to figure out how to turn it back on, while Mickey, with an amused look in his eyes, grabs a hose.

Ian knows he's supposed to pull a cord, and it strikes him, for the first time, how many things he knows not from real life, but from the movies and TV. Mickey's turned on the water, but it's falling more on his bare feet than on the grass, because he's still looking at Ian like he's trying to hold back a snort.

Ian finally finds the cord and pulls it. The machine revs to life, so loudly it startles him and he lets go. From the other side of the yard, he hears a chuckle, the closest thing he's heard to a real laugh from Mickey since he's been here.

"Fuck you, Mickey."

Mickey puts his finger to the end of the hose, sprays Ian with water. "OK."

"What?"

"I said OK."

He tackles him to the ground and they roll over each other, and if Ian thought he could easily overpower Mickey, he was wrong. They wrestle until both of them need to catch their breaths, and Mickey's face is right above Ian's.

"Are you drunk?"

He should know better than to ask. There is always some sort of alcohol running through Mickey's blood.

* * *

If someone had told Ian his first time would be on some stained blankets with cigarette burns, he would have laughed. He feels like laughing, now, and there is no reason not to, so he does. Mickey looks at his face, a slow smile spreading across his own.

"You never laughed when we were kids."

Ian shrugs. "No reason to."

"I liked making you laugh."

"I know."

Mickey unbuckles his belt and glances at him. "You nervous?"

"Kind of. Are you?"

"No."

Ian thinks he must be lying, but when he feels Mickey's body above his, he knows it's the truth. He doesn't move like someone who's nervous, he moves like someone who knows what he's doing.

"Mickey. Wait."

Mickey looks down at him. "What? You don't want to?"

Ian blushes, it's obvious to both of them that he does. "No, it's just... have you ever...?"

"What? Been with a guy? No."

"Then why-"

"Why what?"

"Why aren't  _you_  nervous?"

"I'm sure there's not much to it."

"But... do you even know what you're doing?"

Mickey rests a hand on Ian's shoulder trying, with touch, to say what he can't with words.

_I've known the sound of your heart since I was seven. That's all I need to know._

* * *

Ian's sure he's gonna lose it when he looks up to see Mickey's face. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he's biting his lip in pain. The thing Ian always dreamed of seeing. The thing he never thought he'd get to have.

He feels his hips bucking, wants to push in, but instead, he puts his hands on Mickey's chest. He opens his eyes briefly, like Ian's just shocked him out of all concentration.

"What is it?"

"I just... are you OK?"

Mickey rolls his eyes before shutting them again, trying to get back to what he was doing. "Shut up, Gallagher."

"You look like you're in pain." He doesn't mention how much the look on Mickey's face is turning him on.

"I said shut up."

"I don't want this to suck for you."

"Then stop talking."

"I don't wanna hurt you."

Mickey opens his eyes again with an annoyed sigh. "Believe me, if you were, you would know."

 _I'd have kicked the shit out of you already_ , he thinks about adding, but doesn't. This is the first time in his life he's allowing someone to break him without even putting up a fight.

"So it doesn't hurt?" That had been the one thing that always scared Ian when he thought about having sex. He'd always thought he'd have to bottom.

"Yeah, it hurts, Ian, what the fuck do you think?"

Ian looks up at Mickey, horrified. "Then why-?"

"Because it feels good, too, you asshole. Can we stop talking now?"

Ian doesn't like pain, but he thinks it might be different for Mickey, who's obviously at home in it. Judging by the way he loses himself, Ian thinks he might have found, in its sharp edges, one that sparks pleasure. He wonders how long it took him to hone that skill, how long he's had to practice.

When Mickey opens his eyes again, Ian's are shut tightly. He's all the way inside him, now, and Mickey feels lightheaded, lighthearted. It's a distinct flavor of pain from any he's ever had before, one that's surprisingly not localized, but humming through his body like a sharply-sung song, hurting his kidneys, his liver, his lungs.

Ian is wrong. Pain is something he's been trying not to feel his whole life, and this is the most intense yet.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: There is a brief reference to past sexual assault of a minor this chapter.

 

He gets it, now, why Mickey likes to sleep on the floor of this house. It's warm, in it's own way, like a home or a nest, alive with it's own memories, echoing of past footsteps and the heavy soles of boots. It encases you, drags you down with it, into slumber and summer, into the illusion that you might not wake up, that it won't be your choice if you do.

When he opens his eyes, he's not surprised to find Mickey gone, but he'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel it, like a small crack in his heart. He heads to the fridge and grabs two beers, and finds Mickey asleep outside, on the front porch, wrapped up in some sheets like he's homeless. Ian jabs him with his bare foot until he wakes and sits up. He sits down next to him and hands him an open can while he drinks from the other. "You're an asshole."

Mickey sips on his beer. "I can't share a bed."

"It's not exactly a bed."

Mickey grunts.

"Why can't you?"

"I don't know. I just can't."

* * *

He stops by Mickey's the next few nights, but knows he won't find him there. He goes home instead, and on the way to his room sees Karen's door open, a cloud of smoke billowing from within.

"Karen?" he asks, not wanting to pry. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Come in."

He's never been inside her room before. It looks just like the one he's in, decorated in pink, frilly things, fit for a girl of twelve, and it strikes him it's just as inappropriate as his.

Karen's laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and smoking a joint. She pats the spot next to her, and Ian sits.

"Want some?"

He shakes his head and Karen shrugs. "He hasn't got you into this yet, huh?"

"I haven't seen him in days. Where is he?"

"Hiding."

"Why?"

"Who knows."

Ian mulls this over. "Where would you hide if you were Mickey?"

"At work."

"But its twelve o'clock at night."

"He's always there until late. Only been leaving early since you came."

She's interrupted by a coughing fit, but smiles and goes back to her joint easily.

"Where's your mom?"

"Asleep."

"Does she know you smoke?"

"There's lots of shit she don't know." She pauses. "My uncle treating you right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"He's an asshole."

"He's all right."

"He locked me in a closet and made out with me at a party once."

Ian lays a hand on her arm. "Shit, Karen. I'm sorry."

She coughs again. "Don't be. It could have been a lot worse."

* * *

After Karen falls asleep, Ian heads over to the construction site. Mickey's there all right, perched on a platform, applying layers of cement to a brick wall. Iggy and Colin are there too, sitting on the floor. They're all, as Karen predicted, talking and smoking joints. "So, we go in, you smash the camera, I take the gun and..."

They fall silent when they see Ian approaching. Mickey's brothers glance at him uneasily, then grab their things and, with cool nods toward Ian, head off. Mickey grabs some more of the cement mixture and continues laying it on.

"You like coming to work, don't you?" says Ian with amusement.

"No."

"Yes, you do. You like being here. It's like your very own giant tree."

Mickey shrugs.

"I want to come with you."

"What, up here?" Mickey stretches out his hand to help him up. His calloused hands are tempting, now that Ian knows what they feel like on his body, but he shakes his head.

"You still afraid of heights?"

"No. I want to go with you and your brothers."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were planning something, weren't you?"

Mickey hangs his head in defeat, knowing he can't lie. "Yeah."

"I want to come."

Somehow, they both feel he's not in a position to deny Ian anything.

"Fine."

* * *

The sound of sirens is tearing through the night air, and Ian's at a standstill in the middle of it all, until he smells the faint, familiar smoke of Mickey's clothes and feels his hand pulling him into a place where it's all cool and dark. They crouch down and Mickey stares into his eyes with urgency.

"You stay here, you hear me?" he whispers.

Mickey's pale irises are boring into him, and Ian can't understand words, but he understands the distress in Mickey's eyes and stays, even though the sound of gunshots does nothing but make him want to run after him.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when Mickey comes back to get him. They walk home without a word to each other, until Mickey stops under a street light to light a cigarette and Ian catches a glimpse of his bloody arm.

"What happened to you?"

Mickey glances down, at the puddle of blood that's formed under his feet. "Shit. Bullet graze."

He takes off his jacket, wraps it around the wound. Ian winces, and Mickey looks at him.

"I hope you're happy."

Ian stares at him silently.

"You wanted to come and see? This is what there is to see."

"I didn't... all I wanted was to be included."

"I wasn't trying to exclude you, Ian. I was trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"I don't know. From having a felony on your record. From going to juvie. From me."

"Mickey, I don't need-"

"Don't you get it? I fucked up my life and now I'm gonna fuck yours up, too."

"You can't-"

"I'm disaster waiting to happen. Why do you think I made sure to stay away from everyone after he died?"

"Not Karen."

"Ian, I don't care enough about Karen to stay away from her."

The image of Ian's childhood hero is crashing before his eyes, and he thinks this might be the first time he sees Mickey as he truly is.

"You're not fearless, Mickey. You're terrified. Because when he died, you let him take everything. And now you're alone."

Mickey looks at him, strangely calm in spite of Ian's outburst. "I'm not alone."

"You don't have friends, you don't have a family-"

"You're my family, man."

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is actually the last chapter. The only thing that's left is a very, very short sort of epilogue. Thanks for reading!

Mickey walks him home, and Ian, exhausted, races up to his room. He's about to doze off when loud yelling wakes him. He feels like he's eavesdropping, but Mickey and Karen are having such a row, it'd be impossible not to hear them. Karen in particular sounds hysterical, not at all the cool, careless girl he's come to know, and he thinks that Mickey can try even the most patient person's temper.

"That's all you ever wanna fucking eat. Do you ever eat anything else? Anything that's not pizza and beer?"

"What fucking business is it of yours what I eat?"

"I want to go out, I want to do stuff-"

"Well, then go out and do it-"

"What's the point of having a boyfriend if-"

"That I'm your boyfriend don't mean you fucking own me-"

"I can't believe you'd rather stay in your fucking dirty-ass house-"

"You don't like it, don't come over-"

"How can you live like that?"

Ian's cringing even before the door slams. He looks out the window and sees Mickey storming out of the house.

He avoids going downstairs because he doesn't want to run into Karen, half-afraid she'll kick him out. It's inevitable, though, and when he does run into her, she acts like nothing's happened, and he realizes she's a much better person than he thought.

Maybe even too good for Mickey, even though he feels like he's betraying him by thinking that.

* * *

 

The next time he goes to Mickey's, he's surprised to find him home, passed out on the kitchen floor. There is a pile of bloody rags in the sink, which he begins washing. Mickey wakes with a start, but relaxes when he spots Ian, trying to clean the bloody mess in his kitchen.

"I can't live another way that isn't this."

"No one's asking you to."

"Can you deal with it?"

"Yes, Mickey. I can deal with you. Isn't that what you're really asking?"

He squeezes the rags as Mickey watches him, red flowing freely down the drain, and thinks back to a time when he threw up at the sight of blood.

"How do you know I don't have AIDS?"

"Is that supposed to be some sort of gay joke?"

"No. It's just.. you're touching my blood."

"Do you have AIDS?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Good."

He lays down next to Mickey when he's done, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Mickey?"

"Yeah?"

"Put your mouth on me."

He can hear the catch in Mickey's voice. "What?"

"Your mouth. I want it on me."

This time, Mickey's unsure, uncertain, silent. Ian pretends he doesn't feel his hands shaking as he unzips his jeans, but he doesn't take his eyes off him, even when he's between his legs.

Mickey's on his feet almost as soon as they're done. "I'm going for a drink," he says, and Ian nods. He gets up, too, and has a seat on the old rocking chair, where he falls asleep and wakes up hours later to find Mickey, coiled at his feet.

* * *

 

"I'm not going back."

"What?"

"I'm staying here."

"You can't."

"Why?"

"Because there's nothing for you here. Don't you get it? A summer, it's fine. You wanna be working at the warehouse forever?"

"Mickey, you-"

"Don't say it."

"You need me."

"I did fine all these years without you."

"I know."

"We're nothing, Ian. I'm with Karen."

"I know."

"I got nothing to offer you. I will never leave this house. This house is my roots."

"I know."

* * *

 

There's a bouquet of flowers on the dining room table, and he can guess where they came from. Sheila's beaming over them like she never saw flowers before, and Ian thinks that, if Mickey wanted, he could actually make people happy.

Karen insists on Ian going to the movies with them, and she does it to be nice, but the truth is that she's so into her boyfriend that she pays no attention to him at all. Ian watches them sometimes, when they're making out, and wonders for the millionth time if Mickey can feel love in different ways or maybe not at all. He asks him about it, next time they're alone, and Mickey shrugs.

"I don't know. I don't care what I am."

"But you agree there's a possibility you might be gay?"

"Why do I have to be anything?"

"You like me, right?"

Mickey rolls his eyes.

"So that means you like guys-"

"Maybe that's just not who I am, have you ever thought about that?"

"And you're using me to figure it out?"

But Mickey just turns away.

* * *

 

Mickey's taking to hiding again, and Ian's taken to not looking. He spends his late nights watching TV, downstairs in the living room, sometimes with Sheila and others with Karen.

Tonight, Karen comes home first, looking exhausted. She makes herself a sandwich and sits down next to Ian, eating slowly and giving Ian the impression that she wants to say something but doesn't know how to.

"Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you tell Mickey what I told you about my uncle?"

"Why?"

"He set fire to the warehouse last night. They got him locked up at the county jail."

She looks concerned, but calm, and Ian thinks, with a pang, that she must be used to this.

"Yeah, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

Karen chews on her sandwich slowly. "He's a good guy, Mickey. People say he ain't, but..." She shakes her head. "What am I trying to convince you for? You love him."

Ian struggles to find the words. "He... he isn't everything you think he is, Karen."  _And that's why you love him_ , he tells himself.

"Ian, he's going to jail this time. For real. For a while."

"Are we gonna get to see him? Before?"

"He'll be out for a couple days. Until he has his court date."

Ian sighs. "Sometimes I think he likes getting into trouble."

Karen shakes her head again. "He promised Mandy before she left. That he wouldn't go back to jail."

Ian takes a deep breath and Karen looks at him. "See?"

* * *

 

"Karen thinks you did it for her."

Mickey doesn't know what he's talking about, doesn't care.

"I should have told her the truth."

"And what is that?"

"That you did it so I would stay away."

"You think you're so fucking important."

Mickey thinks back to that fuel and fire, about how he didn't even take a minute to think, Jesus this thing is turning my head, it's making me stop being who I always thought it was, it's making me let go of everything.

"When is your trial?"

"I got court in a week."

"How long do you think they'll give you?"

Mickey shrugs. "I'm barely eighteen. Maybe they'll take it easy on me."

* * *

 

He picks up a couple of burgers before going to find Mickey, as he knew he would, at the construction site. He's up on his usual platform, stops working and sits down when he sees him.

"Got your plane ticket?"

"Yup."

"For?"

"Today. Five o'clock."

"You're gonna leave without seeing your family?"

Ian shrugs. He hasn't thought about them more than a couple of times this summer. "Why do you care?"

"Don't. But if I could visit Mandy, I would."

Ian nods and Mickey looks away, before things get too sentimental. "You bring food?"

"Yeah."

Mickey extends his hand out to help him up and this time, Ian takes it. They sit together on the platform. Mickey takes the bag from him and looks inside. He pulls out a hamburger, unwraps it and takes a ravenous bite.

"Thank god. I'm fucking sick of pizza."

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Ian remembers some moments in a way he doesn't remember entire years.

When they figured out he was sick, when he started taking medicine, he had been afraid, terrified, of losing memories.

And he had been right. He had lost some. Not consciously, of course. But sometimes, when he tried to recall where he had spent a certain holiday, or what flavor his last birthday cake had been, he drew a blank.

It made him sad, thinking about what else he must be forgetting that he wasn't ever going to get back.

"That shit happens to everyone, Ian," Mickey had said roughly when he had vocalized his fears. "We just ain't aware of it."

And yet there are things that Ian knows he will never forget. Not because they're special or better, he knows by know that his brain doesn't discriminate, but by the sheer amount of time he's replayed them in his head.

It wasn't something he did on purpose, until it was. Now he knows there are memories he will keep on replaying, as many times as he has to, to make sure they stay.

 

* * *

 

 

" _You can't eat snow, Ian," an eight-year-old Lip tells his brother sternly._

" _Why not?"_

_"Because you just can't, OK?"_

_Mickey still has his mother, but Ian and his siblings have never had anyone. They're all waiting for the L, and Ian is licking crumbs of gray snow off his frayed mittens._

" _That's gross," Mickey mutters, watching him._

" _What?" Ian asks innocently. "My brother made me throw out my good snow."_

_Mickey glances at Lip, who is standing a couple of meters away from them, digging for god knows what inside the nearest trash can._

" _Why don't you get some more?"_

_Ian makes a face. "He'll just yell at me."_

_Mickey takes a few steps back, away from his mother, who is too busy trying to wipe a rowdy Mandy's nose to notice what he's doing. He runs under the bridge and grabs some fresh snow, making a ball with his hands. He steps right in front of Ian and smashes it in his face._

" _Hey," Ian protests weakly. "Why you do that for?"_

_Mickey laughs. "Now he can't say anything about you eating it."_

_Ian grins as he sticks out his tongue to taste the snow around his lips. Mickey looks at him curiously._

" _What does it taste like?"_

_Ian shrugs. "I don't know."_

" _What do you mean, you don't know?"_

_"You wanna try it?"_

_Only they can hear the L coming, and Mickey knows he won't have a chance to grab more. He looks at the snow on Ian's mittens, considering it, but then Ian takes a step toward him and offers his snow-covered cheek._

_Mickey licks it without thinking too much about it, and savors the taste in his mouth. He can see what Ian meant, and yet..._

_He smiles slowly, satisfied. "It's sweet."_

 

* * *

 

 

Ian shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. It's summer now, and it doesn't do anybody any good to be thinking about snow.

He's on his way to the airport, he still has a few hours to kill.

Maybe he'll stop by Fiona's after all.

 


End file.
